


Stockholm

by fadeverb, joyeusenoelle



Series: Kai and Mannie [18]
Category: In Nomine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyeusenoelle/pseuds/joyeusenoelle





	Stockholm

I am learning to appreciate the subtle differences between Djinn and Cherubim. For example, there is the difference between subject and direct object when someone to whom a Djinn or Cherub is attuned is in danger: I drag a Djinn along. A Cherub drags me along.

Thus I find myself in the back seat of a station wagon, going what Kai would probably consider a sedate, grandmotherly speed down an interstate highway. The other drivers probably would not agree with my friend, who would also wonder what the point was in driving a car with a top. The Cherub, however, is doing an admirable job of causing danger neither to us nor to the other cars on the road beyond a few frayed nerves, and so I do not vocalize any of this.

Instead I say, "Now that we are safely on the road, Anetheon, may I ask where we're going?"

The Cherub's eyes don't deviate from the pavement. "A warehouse, about ten miles southeast. Used to be a repository for industrial machine parts, but it's been mostly abandoned for a few years now."

"Okay, I understand how you're getting the 'ten miles southeast' part; that much of your resonance is clear. But have you developed a strange hybrid resonance that gives you more information?"

I can hear the smile tugging at his dour expression. "No, I Googled it while you were getting coffee."

"Damn," I say. "You would have made a positively fascinating research subject." This is at least as much to cheer him up as it is the truth, but the thought of researching resonance uses with Anetheon - and, perhaps, young Maharang - keeps my mind occupied for several minutes.

A sudden jolt breaks my reverie. "What was that? Did we hit something?"

The Cherub shakes his head. "Rock in the road. Didn't see it in time. I bet it dinged the rim." He mutters something I can't hear, but I can take a guess as to what he's thinking.

"How is your charge, Anetheon?" I ask, if only to get his mind off the damage to his borrowed car.

"No further danger. This feels like a kidnapping, not a - uh-oh." The car speeds up abruptly, and I'm pressed into the upholstery.

"Something just happened, I take it?"

"Yes, there's... I don't know. Not danger, but threat. It's weird."

"Hm," I say, leaning forward and watching the road. "Maybe I will get to dissect you after all."

He snorts, and pulls into the exit lane. The car turns smoothly, despite the putative damage to one of the rims, and within minutes we're parked outside a warehouse with FAIRWAY HEAVY INDUSTRY INC. in peeling red paint on the side. Anetheon is halfway to the door before I'm even out of the car woth my briefcase, but he's cautious enough not to kick the door open just yet. "Can you tell where she is inside?"

"No," he says, and frowns. "It's like she's wrapped in plastic."

"Kinky," I say, trying out one of the phrases I've heard Kai use.

"Metaphysical plastic, Mannie," says Anetheon, and taps the hinges on the door. I don't see any flakes come off, but the Cherub frowns. "They'll probably squeak when we open the door."

"The kidnapper probably left them that way on purpose, too," I say, and look around the side of the building, where no cars are parked except ours. "It's a warning to whoever's inside that someone's coming in. Primitive but effective."

"Let's see if there are other ways in, then." Anetheon is off toward the other side of the building, and I have to run to keep up with his jogging. "A window, another door, a hole in the - whoa."

I turn the corner just after he does, and stop just as short once I see the helicopter on the other side. It's curvy and bulky, and looks dangerous to its passengers and anyone around it. It would be amazingly sexy if I were still a Vapulan - these days I go for sleek, smooth lines - but as it is I can still appreciate the aesthetic appeal of a vehicle that looks like it wants to eat you.

"I guess that's why we didn't see any cars," I say, and get closer to the helicopter. It's obviously new, and definitely wasn't left behind by the owners of the warehouse. As I approach I start making out particular external systems - weapons, defenses, extra maneuverability - and I realize with a start that I recognize some of them. "Anetheon, this is a Vapulan device. Don't get too near it."

"What," he says, laughing, "do you think it's going to explode?"

"It certainly would not be beyond the bounds of some of the specifications that came across my desk." A sudden chill runs down my spine. "Oh, no. Anetheon, we could be in a lot more trouble than I think we are."

"One of your old friends paying a visit?"

"You might say that. Please let me go in first - I might be able to..." Reason with him? No. Manipulate him into letting me win? Maybe, if I play it right. "I might be able to get us out without any bloodshed."

"And what am I supposed to do - wait around while someone I'm attuned to is in danger?"

"Yes," I say, and look him straight in the eye. "That is exactly what I need and expect you to do." I walk past him and go back to the car. I won't be needing my briefcase, but I do open it and extract a nine-millimeter pistol. Just in case. "Stay at the door. If you hear me shout, or if you don't hear anything for ten minutes, or if you suddenly get a spike of danger, come in. Otherwise, I'll handle this."

"Mannie, I don't think this is a good idea." Anetheon's scowl has slid into a frown.

"Neither do I, Anetheon. But if this is who I think it is, I have a chance to get Soraela and you and me out of here without any harm to any of us, and if you go in first he will kill you and then he will go on doing whatever he plans to do to Soraela, so Anetheon, for the love of God, stay outside for now."

There are some striking similarities between Djinn and Cherubim too; notable among them is a mutual stubbornness. The primary difference there is that sometimes Cherubim yield.

"Fine," he says. "If you shout, or if I don't hear anything for ten minutes, or if there's sudden danger."

"Yes, exactly." I squeeze the pistol's grip experimentally and then open the door. It creaks loudly, and suddenly everything else sounds very, very quiet.

I step inside.

"Hello, Mannie," says a familiar voice. "Nice gun."

I look down at it, then back at the man in the lab coat. He is standing in front of an easel with cards set on it, and between us is a female form, bound and gagged. "I thought you might like it," I say, walking forward to put myself between him and his captive. "You always did prefer the classics."

"I'm not sure I'd call that a classic," he says, and sets the pointer in his hand down on the easel. "Why are you here, Mannie?"

I glance over my shoulder; Soraela is conscious, and her eyes are wide. "She keeps bringing me sandwiches when I work too long. I figured it was the least I could do."

"You could just go on a date with her when she gets out of Trauma. I understand that's what you do with all the angels who take care of you."

Anger is the mind-killer. I take a deep breath, and wish I had spent more time with Jack - no, maybe Sharon - learning ways to curse in the divine language. "Are you going to undo the padlock, Hari, or will I be forced to remove it by other means?"

Hari shrugs. "The key is back in her apartment, Mannie. I didn't think I would be needing it anymore." He points to the face-up card, which shows a very angry penguin with lasers on its flippers.

I cough. "I'm a little surprised, Hari. You, on deathtrap detail?"

He flushes gratifyingly, his scowl deepening. "Our Archangel was displeased when things went sour in Cincinnati, Maharang."

"Your Prince, brother," I say, and pull the trigger. A little muffled shriek from behind me, and Hari is on the floor, cursing and holding his bleeding knee. "And my name is Mannie."

While I'm backing up toward Soraela, Hari is climbing to one knee. "That hurt, brother," he says, spitting the last word out. "And now I'm not even going to get to finish my speech. You know, some of the lesser demons say the monologue is the best part."

"They would," I say, carefully aiming the pistol at the ornate padlock. "Conversations are lost on people who don't acknowledge that others exist." The shot rings out, and I look down at the padlock, which is mysteriously still whole. I know I hit it, because I can see the scoring where the bullet struck the metal. "An artifact, Hari?"

"You don't think I'd chain one of your friends up with a padlock that could be broken, do you, Mannie? Give me some credit." He grins, finally, and leans on the easel as he rights himself. "And before you ask, the key was the blood of her cat. If you're fast, you might find some in the bathtub with its body."

Anger is - screw it. I level the gun and fire three rounds through his chest, easily enough to kill him after Cincinnati. "Ah," he says, and smiles as beatifically as a Punisher can. "You probably shouldn't have done that."

He falls to the ground, blood pooling under him, as Anetheon bursts through the door. "What the hell happened?" he shouts, looking over the scene. "Why is she in danger if he's - oh. Oh no."

"What?" I look at Soraela, then back at Anetheon. "What am I missing?"

"She's a Cherub, remember? And he's a Habbalite?" Anetheon takes one look at the padlock and chains, and starts disassembling the chair instead.

"Yes, I would be hard-pressed to - oh. Oh." I look at Hari, and sigh. "Oh." I wish again that I had spent more time memorizing expletives. 

Anetheon slides the chains off Soraela and removes her gag, and she falls, sobbing, into his arms. As he leads her out to the car, I settle for putting another round in the back of Hari's vessel's head, and follow the Cherubim outside.

"Do Cherubim have a term for this?"

Anetheon shrugs. "You can't pronounce it in an Earth tongue. If you ask later, when we get back to Heaven, I'll tell you. Right now we need to get her to a Tether, and then an Archangel." She's in the front passenger seat, still sniffling, and I climb into the back as Anetheon buckles himself in.

"I'm sorry," I say, and wish that I knew more expressive ways to say that, too.

"It's okay," she says, and reaches back between the seats and squeezes my hand.

But it's not.


End file.
